Page 37 of The Treasure House

“It’s your front door,” Jake said. “I took it off and got the glass repaired for you.”

“Oh,” I said awkwardly, wondering how much the repair job was going to cost me. And why he’d thought he could interfere with my property like that. “Thanks.”

“I figured you’d need a front door as soon as you got here. If you want, I can come put it on after the lunch rush is over.”

“Thanks,” I said again. I bit my lip, waiting for him to tell me the damage.

“It’s on the house,” he said hastily, reading my expression. “Sorry I took it without asking. I guess I got into overly familiar habits with that house.” He sighed. “I’ve been its caretaker for a while.”

Of course he had been. He seemed to do everything around here. I touched the cat-shaped door knocker. “This is very generous of you.”

He grunted. “So… do you want me to come install the door later?” He seemed not quite able to meet my eye.

“I don’t want to put you out.”

“It’s no trouble. Would only take a minute and your dad looks like he’ll be busy clearing the yard.”

I didn’t correct him. It was easier for him to think Wayne was my dad than to explain my messy life. “Okay, thanks. If it’s no trouble.”

For the first time, I started thinking about the reality of living in a small town and having neighbors. Neighbors who did things for you, who knew your business. I didn’t know if I wanted Jake, or anyone, knowing the details of my life.

By the time I got back to the house, Flo had found another cat. Only this time it was a real one. A big fluffy ginger with golden eyes. Which was lodged under the loveseat in my new bedroom.

“It was in the tub,” Flo told me excitedly, “and then it ran in here.” She was on her hands and knees, cooing at the recalcitrant cat. “It was drinking water from the dripping faucet. It was probably dying of thirst, poor thing.”

The wretched cat didn’t look like it was dying of anything to me. It looked big and fat and healthy. “How do you know if an animal has rabies?” I asked Ali, who was flopped across the bare mattress on my brass bed.

“Is it foaming at the mouth?”

“Is that a sign?” I couldn’t see any foam.

Ali shrugged.

“We need to get it out of here,” I ordered as Flo slid a saucer of water under the loveseat for the cat.

“Don’t crash out, Mom, it’s just a cat. Come on, kitty,” Flo cooed to it. “I’m going to call it Marmalade.”

“You’re not keeping it.”

“Zoe! You’ve got visitors!” Suni’s voice came singing up the stairs.

Visitors? Who the hell would be visiting me?

“I want the cat out by the time I get back, Flo. Open up the windows so it can get out.”

“It’s all right, Marmalade,” Flo soothed the still hiding cat. “I won’t let her throw you out the window.”

“I’m not throwing it out the window, Flo, I’m encouraging it out,” I huffed. “And don’t you dare touch that thing, it might have rabies. Ali!” I begged. “Watch her closely. I don’t want a rabid kid.”

Sighing, Ali got off the bed and came over to slump in an armchair instead.

I closed the door and jogged down the stairs and out to the screened porch, where Suni stood chatting to two older men. One was tall and languid, in a linen shirt and tailored shorts and boat shoes; the other was short and frenetic, his gaze darting all over the clutter. The taller man was holding a basket and chatting easily to Suni.

“Zoe, these are your neighbors,” Suni said as I joined them. “Roger and Alan. They run the bed-and-breakfast next to the hardware store.”

“Ah, the lovely Zoe,” the taller man said. He had a sweet smile and a twinkle in his soft brown eyes. “Doris said you were young and lovely, and she wasn’t wrong. Which she sometimes is, isn’t she, Alan?”

“Sometimes,” Alan said dryly. He had salt and pepper hair that stood up in tufts at the back, as if in protest at the heat. His round cheeks were like ripe apples and he gave off an air of distracted but limitless energy. I assumed this was the famous Alan who upset Jake by playing the bagpipes at dawn.